Jane Bites Back_ A Novel - Michael Thomas Ford [35]
“What did you do?” Jane asked. She felt her heart beating, but something was different. She was changed somehow.
“You’ve been reborn,” said Byron. “I took your life, then gave it back to you.” He showed her his wrist. Blood flowed from a fresh wound. Jane realized with horror that the liquid in her mouth was not water. She ran her tongue over her teeth and found them thick with the taste of meat and iron.
“No,” she said, trying to push herself away from Byron. “Let me go!”
Byron pulled her back, holding her tightly against his chest. “It’s too late,” he said. “It’s done.”
“You drowned me!” Jane cried, beating at him with her fists.
“A dream,” said Byron. “Of your rebirth. We all experience it differently. But you have never left this bed.”
“What have you done?” Jane sobbed. “What have you done to me?”
The alarm woke her up. Tom was sitting beside her, staring down at her expectantly. He meowed once.
Jane sat up. Already the nightmare was fading. But she remembered enough of it. It hadn’t come to her in a very long time. Now, she feared, it would return again and again. Byron’s kiss had given new life to it.
“Damn him,” she said to Tom. “Damn him for coming back.”
Chapter 13
To be a writer, she thought, must be the most wonderful thing in the world, if for no other reason than that one’s characters would have to do exactly as they were told. Unlike flesh-and-blood men, they were not likely to behave in contrary ways, forever-leaving one perplexed and unsettled, never-knowing quite what they were thinking.
—Jane Austen, Constance, manuscript
“I’VE GOT GOOD NEWS.”
It took a moment for Jane to recognize Kelly’s voice. “Should I sit down?” she asked.
“You’ll just jump back up again. We got a blurb from Margot Aldridge.”
Jane couldn’t suppress a squeal of joy. “The Beauty of Lies Margot Aldridge?” she said.
“Is there another one?” asked Kelly.
Jane laughed. “I certainly hope not,” she said.
“She doesn’t blurb anything,” Kelly said. “But I know her editor, and I took a chance. Jennifer passed the manuscript on to Margot and she absolutely loved it. Do you want to hear it?”
“I don’t know,” said Jane. “Do I?”
Kelly ignored her remark and began to read. “‘Constance is the rare novel that so deftly explores the lives of its characters that we forget they exist only on the page. Jane Fairfax’s debut is absolutely magical.’”
Jane couldn’t speak. “Are you there?” Kelly asked after twenty seconds of silence.
“Read it again,” Jane said finally.
Kelly did. “And that’s not all,” he told Jane. “I think we’ll be getting quotes from Fisher McTavish and Anne Gardot.”
Jane gripped the phone tightly. “Keep naming my favorite authors and I’m going to have a heart attack,” she said. “I can’t believe it.”
“I told you it was a great book,” said Kelly. “Everyone here is excited about it. I haven’t seen them push a book through so quickly since we did the tell-all by that woman who had the affair with the president. Bound galleys are already going out to reviewers, and sales is making a big push to the chains and Amazon to make sure they promote the hell out of this as soon as possible.”
“Now I am sitting down,” Jane said. “I can’t believe this. It’s only been two weeks since I was there.”
“And it’s just beginning,” Kelly said. “You should be hearing from Nick Trilling later today. He’s your publicity guy. We need to put together an author bio to send to the press.”
Suddenly Jane’s excitement waned. She hadn’t even thought about a bio. Getting the book published at all was the only thing that had concerned her. Having to promote herself was the furthest thing from her mind.
“I suppose I can come up with something,” she said. “But I’m not terribly interesting, you know.”
“Are you kidding?” said Kelly. “A bookstore owner who writes her first novel when she’s fortysomething? You’re a publicist’s dream. Every woman in America will be able to relate to you, Jane.”
I doubt that, Jane thought. “Perhaps,